I walk to the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. My eyes are puffy, my hair is a disaster, and I look like a victim.
I hate victims.
I grew up watching my mother be a victim. I watched her cry over men who didn't deserve her tears, watched her shrinkuntil she was invisible just to keep the peace. I promised myself I would never be her.
And yet, here I am.
If Gabriel Hollis thinks I’m nothing... then I have nothing to lose.
Ryder is terrified of his father. That was the one thing that was always clear. Ryder craves Gabriel’s approval and fears his father’s judgment.
A dark, twisted idea starts to take root in my mind. It’s dangerous. It’s reckless. It’s the kind of thing that ruins lives.
But my life is already ruined.
So fuck it.
If I’m going to be the villain in their story—the gold digger, the unwanted ex, the trash from Mulberry—then I’m going to be the most memorable mistake the Hollis family ever made.
And I’m going to enjoy every single second of it.
The bass thumpingagainst my ribs feels like a second heartbeat, one that’s significantly stronger than the shriveled, pathetic thing currently residing in my chest.
Red Rum is exactly the kind of place I shouldn’t be. It smells like expensive leather, a mix of colognes, and alcohol. The lighting is low, casting everything in shadows of deep crimson and black. It’s the sort of establishment where people come to disappear, or to be seen by the exact right people while pretending they don’t want to be seen at all.
Normally, I’d love it here. Tonight, I just feel like an imposter in a dress I can no longer afford to dry clean.
“You’re doing the thing with your face again,” Harper says, sliding a martini glass toward me across the polished black table.
I blink, tearing my gaze away from the condensation dripping down the side of the glass. “What thing?”
“The thing where you calculate how many hours of work that drink costs,” she says, taking a sip of her own cosmopolitan. “Stop it. I’m buying. Tonight is about forgetting that Ryder Hollis exists and spending time with your stunningly beautiful bestie.”
I wrap my fingers around the stem of the glass. It’s cold. “That’s not what I’m doing. I’m strategizing.”
Harper raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Strategizing how to get a refund on a relationship? Because I hate to break it to you, B, but the return policy on narcissists is nonexistent.”
“No,” I say, my voice dropping lower even though the music is loud enough to drown out a confession of murder. I lean in over the small table. “I’m strategizing how to make him pay.”
Harper pauses, her glass halfway to her mouth. She knows me. She knows I don’t make idle threats. She also knows I’m currently desperate, humiliated, and fueled by a dangerous cocktail of rage and exhaustion. “What are you thinking?”
I take a long swallow of the martini. “He took everything, Harper. My clients. My reputation. My coffee maker.”
“He took the coffee maker?” Harper’s eyes widen. “Okay, that’s actually evil. But still, the best revenge is living well. Success. All that bullshit.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Success takes too long. I want to hurt him now. I want to take something from him that he cares about.”
I look up, scanning the room until my eyes land on the raised VIP section in the back. It’s roped off, guarded by a bouncer who looks like he eats compact cars for breakfast. But through the gloom, I can see them.
The booth is occupied by three men who everyone knows are at the top of the food chain in Emerald Hills.
One is Cohen Astor, lawyer to the richest of the rich in the Hills. He’s leaning back with an amused expression on his handsome face.
Next to him is a man I only know by reputation and the hushed whispers that follow him around town. Cole Callahan. The guy who owns this place. The guy who runs a lot of thingspeople don’t talk about in polite company. He’s leaning forward, saying something to the other two with a smirk on his face.
And then there’shim.
Gabriel Hollis.
